


每晚也不归家找一个人

by vandoorne



Category: twoset violin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandoorne/pseuds/vandoorne
Summary: eddy chen is not in love with brett yang. brett yang is not in love with eddy chen. this is nothing more than a transaction.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2020/21





	每晚也不归家找一个人

**Author's Note:**

> title from 深夜告别练习 by zpecial, translates to 'not going home every night just to find one person'.

This had not been intentional.

At least, Eddy _thinks_ that none of it had been intentional. One thing had led to another, and the next thing he knew, he had found himself spread open underneath Brett Yang, eyes squeezed shut, glasses slipping down his nose, feeling Brett's cock push into him.

This isn't his first time, nor is this their first time. They've done this over and over, in an assortment of places. In Brett's car, in the toilet of the bar where they first met, at Brett's flat, at fancy hotels that Eddy would never be able to afford. Eddy braced against the shower wall, thighs pressed together as Brett thrusts into the space between his thighs. Eddy with his thighs splayed, holding his legs up, cock leaking against his stomach as Brett fucks him on a bed in a hotel room. Eddy bent over, sucking Brett off while he's in the passenger seat, trying to do it as quickly as he can before they get caught because they're in a public car park. Each time he has his violin with him, just in case, and today is no exception.

It had slipped out unintentionally, that Eddy's studying Music Performance at a Con. He's a violinist, had been in a Youth Orchestra before, had been concertmaster even. Brett had asked Eddy if he would play for him, and against his better judgement, Eddy had agreed. See, Eddy gets it — sometimes Brett asks him to play something on the violin, but there's always a _something_ in mind when it comes to him. He's not a walking violin jukebox, there are limits to what he can do. Usually it's whatever that he's currently working on, for a concert, for class, for an exam, or just something that he really wants to perfect on his own. Those are things he can play from memory, off the top of his head, even without scores. And well, sure, he's got his own compositions and arrangements of other pieces, but he's not about to play anything that he hasn't deemed as ready for performance, still raw and filled with imperfections, and definitely not in front of someone like Brett.

Perhaps for Brett, music is a form of release. Eddy isn't too sure about that to be honest, especially when what follows is usually sex.

Everything is a performance, all the world's a stage, for actors and musicians alike. Eddy reminds himself to relax when he plays for Brett — this isn't an examination. Or is it? If Brett doesn't like what he does, then it's all over, isn't it? Be it in bed, or on the violin. And sure, Eddy needs the money. A scholarship to study music at the Con isn't much when there're lots and lots of other hidden costs. He's doing this because money is an issue, of course.

At the back of his mind, Eddy supposes that this is the life Brett never got to have, although he's not really sure what it is that Brett regrets. Is it not being able to continue in the pursuit of perfection of a craft, of being able to express your emotions through music? Or is it because he had dreams once, and it had gone unfulfilled after his accident?

Then again, why should Eddy even be thinking about all this anyway? He shouldn't care, it's none of his business, isn't it? All the things that Brett had told him about that night they had met at the bar, when Eddy had been wondering just how the fuck he would be able to pay his bills for the next month and had decided that fuck it, for just one night, alcohol can help to solve his problems and drown his sorrows, perhaps. Then he had met Brett, dressed sharply in his black jacket and crisp white shirt and rose gold cufflinks and tie clip and slid into the seat at Eddy's table because all the other tables had been occupied. Brett had gotten drunk so quickly, and by then his cheeks had been flushed as he babbled on and on in response to what Eddy had to say. Eddy can still remember Brett's grip on his shoulder as the words had come out — _If you're struggling to make ends meet, then be mine. I'll pay for you._

Eddy's in this for money. It's purely about money. He squeezes his eyes shut when Brett fucks him, telling himself that he would have never agreed to be with him without the offer of payment. It isn't as if he had found Brett rather attractive, with his shy smile and the light in his eyes when he had talked about playing the violin once, about Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto, and how Brett had kept leaning in and pressing close and looked so fucking embarrassed when Eddy had leaned in to close the gap between them. Brett had _offered_ , and Eddy had needs, simple as that. That night he had been out trying to drown his sorrows, but instead, what he had found had threatened to overwhelm him and pull him under instead. What a fucking joke. 

See, Eddy tries to remind himself of the same thing every single time, bites the inside of his cheek when he's in bed with Brett, when Brett is kissing trails down his jaw and throat, over his Adam's apple, down to his collarbones, to his chest, lower, and lower, that this is nothing more than a _transaction_. He repeats it over and over again, to the point that it's almost a leitmotif for the soundscape of his mind when he's with Brett. This isn't love, this is just about money. When Brett asks if he's feeling okay, if he's still able to take more or if it hurts, it isn't care for his well-being but being careful with the merchandise.

Brett's touch is light on Eddy's skin. He touches him with the same care that he would afford a violin, perhaps. Gentle, with respect. Presses down with just enough force and pressure for the desired effect. Eddy plays the violin and makes music, but Brett makes Eddy's body fucking _sing_.

Perhaps it would be better without the tenderness, Eddy thinks. If Brett weren't that kind to him each time they fuck, if he hurt him more, maybe. If he didn't always come back to clean him up with a washcloth after sex, or if Brett didn't always insist on Eddy staying the night, waking him up with breakfast and remembered just how he liked his coffee.

_It's nothing but common courtesy._

That was what Brett had said in the first time it had happened, the bath at night and then the breakfast in the morning, and Eddy had almost expected him to continue and tell him not to expect this again. His stomach had lurched at Brett's words, but he had forced down the nausea, had grinned and said _thank you_. Right, what the hell had he been expecting anyway? To his surprise, however, every time he stays the night, it's always the same. Eddy slides into his seat, and Brett's already halfway through his meal, scrolling through the news on his iPad, or typing away at his phone. Eddy knows not to disturb him, and he eats quietly, focusing on his food. What good is small talk like this anyway? In the morning light, Eddy can see the crow's feet at the edges of Brett's eyes, the ever-present dark eye circles, the wrinkles on his forehead as he scrunches up his nose. There's something in between them that Eddy can never hope to cross, and he's all too aware of it. Common courtesy, right?

Really, Eddy shouldn't be complaining. So what if this is just a transaction, right? Brett isn't demanding, he's a considerate lover in bed, where his greatest concern is primarily Eddy's release. Brett never asks for more, it's always the agreed timing, the agreed dates, and if Brett were to spring a surprise on him there's always an earlier arrangement to ensure that Eddy's schedule can accommodate him. The money is always transferred to his account on time, and if Brett is particularly satisfied, there's always a generous tip. This is what's going to get him through university, to be able to graduate with his Bachelor's degree from the Con. This is what he needs, that fixed amount every two weeks.

This is not what Eddy Chen needs from Brett Yang:

1\. Tender kisses to the forehead in the morning as sunlight bleeds through the blinds when Brett thinks that Eddy is still asleep  
2\. Shoulder massages mid-soak in the bathtub that honestly work wonders to relieve tension  
3\. The words 'I love you' that linger in the air, perpetually unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> \- twoset 3 mil!!!! and of all things to write i write this, rip me orz  
> \- beta by I, tysm!  
> \- let's be [friends](https://www.twitter.com/_vandoorne)? ;;;;;;;;,


End file.
